


For What Does God Know of Love

by CalamityCain



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Blood Drinking, Devotion, Fallen Angels, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Protectiveness, Satan is a voyeur, Vampirism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24712501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: The temptation of Christ meets the scene in Gethsemane. In which the Devil lays ruin to God's plans by saving two doomed lovers.
Relationships: Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot, Jesus Christ/Satan (Judeo-Christian)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 26





	For What Does God Know of Love

**Author's Note:**

> For Mandy

It was a peaceful night when he went with a heart full of turmoil to greet death alone, atop a desolate hill overlooking Gethsemane.

He had come only to find some semblance of solace in the great silence, to let the sound of his tears be swallowed by vastness of the stars. Instead he found a strange man who was not a man at all. Pale as the moon one moment, then onyx-black with yellow eyes, then golden as the sun, so bright he had to turn away lest he was blinded.

When the radiance finally dimmed, he saw that the man towered above him, wearing a crown of bones bleached to alabaster white and an ethereal garment that flowed constantly around his sinuous form like midnight-blue nebulae. The face was one of heartbreaking beauty, yet the brow and the set of the mouth were hardened as if from centuries of sadness.

“An angel,” he guessed. “I wasn’t expecting one.”

“Rightly so. The son of God should expect no less than God himself, not a messenger. But,” said the personage with a stately air, “you are partially correct: I _was_ an angel. Now I am something else…with considerably more to offer than the highest-ranking of seraphim.”

“And what _do_ you offer?”

“All that your hallowed Father cannot. Freedom, life, love.” The regal features shifted briefly into the visage of his beloved. His heart skipped a beat; he blinked, and Judas’ face was gone.

“Your heart is heavy because you are destined to die by the sunrise. I offer another chance at the future you could have.” The man held out his hand. The nails were long and dark and gleamed like polished stone. “Accept my offer. Thwart destiny. What is it but a poor gift from a loveless father?”

He felt himself drawn to the outstretched hand and the faint light pulsating from beneath the marble-like flesh. “I could thwart it without your help. It’s not too late to flee.” _I could be selfish for once._

“But _would_ you?” No; of course he would not. Whether out of pride or martyrdom or simply the inexorable course of fate, he had already ceded defeat. He could tell he had earned the fallen angel’s scorn. The soft lips curved mockingly. “And would they find you still, however far you ran?”

“You think me a fool. Perhaps you’ll be proven right. Why should you care, either way?”

“My care is not for luring fools from their choices. I seek foremost to defy the one who made me what I am, and made you what _you_ are: a victim, a sacrificial lamb.” Stone-cool nails stroked his face. “I am giving you the chance to be so much more."

“What would I be, but an outcast – a runaway and a coward?” He crossed his arms and stared into the distance with clouded brow. “I know my path. Nothing you say can change a thing.”

“Knowing is not the same as _seeing._ ” The glowing eyes grew wide and multiplied until a hundred of them hovered in the air, each one blazing and unblinking. “The path before you is brief, to be sure, but it ruins those other than yourself.”

With a circular gesture of his hand, the angel sliced through the walls of time. “Forget what you know,” he said, “and see the truth.”

And he saw.

He saw himself thrown before the feet of a crowd who chanted his doom. He saw his tortured body hung from the cross that haunted his dreams, the crown of thorns – and somewhere in that muddled, murky landscape, the cries of his mother. Then the mud and mingled voices cleared to reveal a barren land dotted with dying trees. Against a bloody sky, a sprawling oak stretched its branches like gnarled hands in unanswered prayer. From its highest branch hung a rope, and from its end hung –

“NO!” Jesus hurtled towards the terrible vision as the fallen angel’s icy hands pulled him back. “Has love already driven you to madness!” he hissed. Yet when Jesus next beheld his face, it radiated a strange triumph.

“I was right,” he said. “You _do_ love him above all. Even more than life itself.”

The wound in time closed and mended itself, and the night was serene once more. The strong arms encircled him in an embrace as he sobbed Judas’ name. He felt the whisper of unseen feathers. “Cease your trembling,” said the voice, no longer sibilant but soothing and warm. “These things have not yet come to pass. They never need come to pass.”

He realised that the towering many-eyed personage had now shrunk to the size of a man: tall and sturdy of frame, but a man nonetheless. Only the hardness of his nails and the ever-changing hues of his irises betrayed his true nature.

“Why did he do it?” Jesus asked, shaken to the core.

“Is it not obvious?” came the answer. “He, too, loves you more than life itself. What else was he to do when he discovered he had sent you to your painful death?”

Jesus said nothing, but clung to the suddenly soft embrace with its invisible wings. “They have chosen their leader poorly,” he whispered. He was not brave, only fearful and tired, and cornered by those who adored him and those who abhorred him.

“Sometimes,” said the angel, “it is better to be wise than brave.” A hand was stroking his hair, leaving a lulling warmth in its wake. “Wisdom can save a life where bravery ends it. And you can save two lives before the night is through. I urge you – accept my offer.”

Jesus drew back reluctantly. “And your price…?”

The angel smiled and conjured a rock out of the air. “Turn this stone to bread and we have a deal.”

He could not help an incredulous laugh. “Surely you don’t believe the stories.”

The smile became a wide grin, baring a glimpse of sharp canines. “Indeed not. I merely thought it a good jest.” With a wave of his hand, the rock disappeared. “I ask only for the scent of your flesh, a bit of your blood. The very same you offered your apostles during your last meal together.”

“It was a figure of speech.”

“Being a bit dramatic, weren’t you?”

He smiled wistfully. “That’s what Judas would’ve said. I could tell from the way he was rolling his eyes.”

The angel shrugged, or attempted to. The all too human gesture fitted him ill. “Regardless. Losing a little blood has never killed anyone. They tend to die of other causes, such as continuing to lose more.”

“You have a sense of humour. Is that common among angels?”

“Not at all. Which is a shame.”

“I assume you’re not taking enough to kill, if your plan is to see me alive.”

“You assume rightly.”

Jesus found himself glancing in the direction of the foothill where he had left the slumbering apostles; where Judas was fated to come for him, to make his treachery known to all. He felt the phantom burn of a kiss. Judas’ lips on his: the betrayal of a lover, the most bitter poison of all.

The fallen angel followed the movement of his eyes. “Fear not,” he said. “I’ll call for him. He will come to you; not as a betrayer, but as a friend and lover.”

Cold fingers were creeping upon his neck, gripping his shoulders, radiating eagerness. “Is this your only price – now and ever after?”

A gentle laugh tickled his ear. “Are you worried for your immortal soul?”

“If my soul is not part of the bargain, then no.”

“You are clever as well as wise.” The angel’s hands were slithering all over him: underneath his clothes, caressing him, as if warming his flesh and the blood that flowed beneath. His breath quickened at his own unbidden arousal. The soft lips, the only tenderness from that marble-hard face, was pressing against his bared skin. “Do you accept?”

He did not need to utter a word. In his heart of hearts, the answer formed, and the angel took it.

The gleaming teeth sank into his neck; there was a white burst of pain, and then there was bliss and weightlessness as the sky above parted like a vast curtain to reveal the secrets of the distant stars that were now closer than he had ever seen them. If only he could recall all that they whispered to him!

He reached out to touch the great and endless firmament – but then a dizzying rush of blood being drawn from his veins pulled him back down to earth. Still, they were floating; he could not feel the ground beneath his feet. The angel’s lips were on his neck, his wrists, all over him. The icy hands, now warmed by his own blood, plundered his body – yet untried in so many ways – with bruising passion that made him beg. Subjecting him to such heights of pleasure heretofore unknown except perhaps in Heaven. Or in the depths of Hell.

And then the world was fading away, and he was falling endlessly.

Satan, the Great Adversary, once known as the Morning Star, burned with the brightness of his former namesake as he savoured the blood of Nazareth’s golden son and God’s own Chosen. He cried out in orgasmic bliss as he felt all the joys and pains of human flesh course through his own beautiful but hollow form. “God, Thy will be done,” he called out mockingly. _Your only son has forsaken you._ _Find yourself another victim._

He held the fallen messiah tenderly – as fallen as himself, now, but with the second chance he had never been granted. For a moment he was tempted to carry him away and hide him from the world forever. What a joy it would be to have this lovely young man with the dark soulful eyes at his feet and his mercy for eternity! To keep him imprisoned in his domain, chained and bared for his pleasure, to partake of his blood and flesh at a whim.

He allowed himself just one more taste, undoing the top of Jesus’ shirt to sink his teeth lightly into the slice of exposed chest. Just enough to let the finest of crimson rivulets flow into his mouth and draw a soft moan as Jesus rose briefly to the edge of consciousness.

“A promise is a promise, my dear,” Satan told him just before he slipped back into the dark. “I will not fail you where your Lord has.”

_For what does God know of love and loss? Only we do; only we know its pain and its salvation._

In a blink and a breath, he disappeared with Jesus in his arms. The hill was silent save for the faint sound of beating wings.

~

Judas’ bones felt like lead as he placed one foot in front of the other, as if he was the one being marched to his death. With each step forward he ached to turn back, to undo the last few days, to return to that morning where – after a long and impassioned fight the night before – he had woken with Jesus’ head on his chest and his arm around the man’s shoulder. Somehow, they had found their way back to each other. Tested by the storms of a rivalry that would have undone more resolute men.

Yet they had both been fully clothed and chaste. Both longing to know each other more intimately, yet neither able to do more than pull each other close for a quick taste, a hasty stolen kiss, before some disagreement inevitably pushed them apart. He wondered if this was simply the way they were destined to exist: like moon and earth orbiting, never to meet. He would rather be a falling star, to burn in a collision of love and fury.

Perhaps this day of reckoning would end his torment. Or perhaps prolong it, if the weight in his heart spoke true.

With the guards in tow he arrived upon the huddled sleeping masses. Guileless fools safe in the cocoon of child-like slumber. Surely he himself would know such peace no longer. He had torn it from himself, and he deserved to be driven mad by restlessness to the end of his days.

The dark was lifting. The weak pre-dawn light revealed the individual faces of the apostles, but no Jesus among them. “Where is he?” asked the guard whose breath was hot on his neck.

Judas’ heart leapt. Had he abandoned his vexing pride and fled after all? Had his visions of doom been wrong, the unknowable paths of fate taking a new twist?

As a whirlwind of contradictions surged within him, he heard someone calling his name from north beyond the garden. A strange voice, vaguely inhuman, yet one that pulled him so unyieldingly that he was compelled to follow. “Wait here,” he said tersely to the armed men. “I need to be alone to lure him out.”

Without waiting for objection, he forged ahead into the hills, already knowing he had no intention of making good on his words.

He wandered on for what seemed like an hour, perhaps two. He lost count of time entirely. Daylight crept up on him, its warmth heavier on his back with each minute, and still the ghostly voice pulled him forth. He could have paused at any time, and turned back; but he did not. When on occasion the voice abandoned him, he slowed his pace but kept walking, or stood still as if daring it to test his resolve. He knew only that he could not rest until he reached his destination.

And like a ghost possessing his limbs, the force guided him where he needed it. He could have walked with closed eyes and not have stumbled once. Even amidst a tangle of tree roots his feet knew where to land as his eyes remained fixed on the horizon.

By the time the sun was burning his neck, he realised he had been carrying on in a daze without stopping for water or rest. That was when the tugging at his limbs finally ceased. He felt its sudden absence like the dying of a wind on a hot still day. As the inhuman whispers that had led him this far faded away, his eyes came to rest on a small opening in a low cliff. A tiny cave, almost no bigger than a tomb, and within it a familiar figure –

In a burst of fear he ran to the cave’s entrance. He dropped to his knees, hovering uselessly over the man he loved. “No, no, no….” Jesus lay unmoving and pale, too pale, a smear of drying blood on his neck. Then the dark lashes fluttered and one of the cold hands twitched to life. Judas realised his flesh was chilled all over. He grabbed his coat – glad he’d had the presence of mind to keep it after the heat had made him shed it – and pulled it around Jesus, warming and reviving him.

“How did you end up here?”

Jesus murmured something unintelligible. He opened his eyes with some struggle, blinking in confusion until his gaze settled on Judas’ face.

“Is that really you?” His voice was weak, but his words were clear.

“Who else do I look like, you halfwit?”

“So you’re not dead.” This odd pronouncement was followed by a hand on his face, tracing his features, as if to dispel suspicions that he was a ghost of some kind. “He kept his promise.”

“Who – ” Judas’ question was cut off by the heavy footsteps approaching. The brisk militant march of the guards he had left waiting. He grew cold with dread. The game was over; his bluff was long up. “They’re coming.” Without thinking, he held Jesus tightly enough that it would have taken all six of the men to pry them apart. _They can take him over my dead body._

Dread and regret and fierce love writhed in his gut as he murmured apologies too late, inhaling the scent of Jesus’ hair with a need to preserve such things in memory before they were snatched away. Jesus clung to him and replied, “It’ll be alright. I forgive you. We’ll be alright.”

The words that should have comforted cut him instead. It almost hurt to be forgiven where he deserved to be damned. As hot tears burned the corners of his eyes, the guards stopped right at the cave entrance. Two of them looked right at him, into his eyes…and yet their gaze passed right over them both, as if they were invisible. Jesus did not seem as afraid as he should have been. His breathing, worryingly erratic when Judas had first found him, was steady and warm on his neck.

He felt his heart beat wildly against Jesus’s own, yet he dared not breathe or move an inch until the men retreated and their footfalls faded into the distance. As he loosened his grip, Jesus laughed softly with relief. “He _did_ keep his promise.”

“Who _is_ this person?”

“The same one who led you to me.”

Judas shook his head. “After what just happened…sure. I might as well believe in angels now.”

“You should. He believes in us.”

“I’m guessing he wasn’t sent by your God.”

Jesus smiled. “You could say he is an enemy of God. _The_ enemy.” He cradled Judas’ face with his hands. “That’s why he saved us both.”

“Seems like a sly bastard, if he wields that much power.” Judas looked beyond to the sun-bleached mesas in the distance. “I have no idea where we are now, or how to find the way back. Your kingdom awaits its king.” His lips pursed wryly. “Better a living king than a dead one.”

The soft smile faded a little. “There is no kingdom for me here. Not anymore.” Jesus averted his eyes, but Judas could tell there were tears brimming beneath. “I ran where I should have stayed. I’m not anyone’s hero.”

“No. You’re just a big idiot.” Judas turned his face back firmly. “But you’re _my_ idiot.”

“And how much is this idiot worth to you?”

“At least ten smarter men I could have chosen instead. Consider yourself lucky.”

The dark fervid eyes bore into his. “Kiss me,” said Jesus. “Properly this time.”

And he did.

~

After an entire day of traipsing lost in a stretch of nothingness, they arrived at a small town where they found a hospitable enough inn to sate their dire need for rest. Judas had been afraid Jesus would collapse from fatigue induced by blood loss before they could reach civilisation. He himself was exhausted from half-carrying his beloved through the last stretch before they all but fell into the cool dim embrace of a plain but friendly guesthouse. The lady of the house had taken one look at their pale drawn faces and ushered them to the nearest room, taking the coin Judas thrust into her hand without counting it.

The only good thing about being so drained, thought Judas, was that it left them no strength to argue. It was the longest they had ever been together without bickering over something. He had wanted to extract more information about the contract between Jesus and this mysterious adversary, but Jesus seemed reluctant to elucidate the visions revealed to him. And in his present state it seemed best not to strain him.

“This had better be the last angel you make a deal with who demands blood as payment,” he grumbled as he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt.

“Thank you for not abandoning me,” Jesus murmured as he sank into the soft mattress, his drained limbs already turning to lead.

“Shut up.”

They fell asleep apart. They awoke having closed the distance without either knowing how. Judas was only slightly bemused to find that in the throes of what should have been the sleep of the dead, they had somehow slid towards each other so that Jesus’ head rested on his belly with one arm loosely encircling his thigh. He let his hand rest on the dark tousled hair, enjoying its messy softness between his fingers. The sun leaked through the window slats, casting golden lines on the peaceful sleeping face. It was reassuring to see that some colour had returned to his cheeks.

Jesus stirred slowly to wakefulness. The hand on his thigh tightened its grip as if seeking reassurance. “I was afraid I’d dreamed you.”

“You always did have your head in the clouds. So did most of them.” Judas referred, of course, to the apostles they had left behind.

He would have said more against them, but then Jesus looked up at him with eyes that spoke a hundred adoring words, robbing him of his own. He rolled on top of Jesus, letting the full weight of his ardent need be known. Jesus whimpered as he pushed the hard curve of his arousal between the thighs that parted instinctively for him.

“Is this what you want?” Judas slid a hand beneath his pants to touch him where he seldom even touched himself.

“I…I don’t know,” he whispered. “Do that again.”

Judas complied, sliding two fingers along the tempting crevice, feeling its tightness as Jesus quivered with growing need. “I’m going to need something to ease the way.” Judas shook his head at the ridiculous inconvenience of their situation. He prodded Jesus’ pockets playfully. “It’s too bad you don’t have those expensive oils on your person just – ”

He froze as his fingers brushed something small and cool. Jesus looked equally stunned as Judas dug the glass vial of amber-hued liquid from one of his pockets.

“I didn’t…that wasn’t there before…”

Judas merely arched an eyebrow. “Will miracles never cease?”

He divested them both of their clothing before quickly reducing Jesus to a blushing, stammering wreck simply by means of his oil-slicked fingers. The scent of myrrh filled the air, along with the sound of their hoarse quickening breaths. In the corner of the small room, the unseen provider of this small miracle smiled, and watched with a satisfaction he had not felt in eons.

Judas sucked at the fading marks on Jesus’ neck where blood had been drawn. He felt a rush of possessive passion, wanting suddenly to erase the presence of the one who had made this mark on his beloved. He wanted no other man or woman to have him. His grip on Jesus’ waist and shoulder was almost bruising as he slid in. Jesus’ sharp gasp at being breached was a sweet, delicious sound.

“Judas,” he moaned. What followed was a string of incoherent cries. Their tentative lovemaking picked up its tempo, and for a time they could form no words, no thoughts. There was a half-choked request that sounded vaguely like _“please.”_ It took some time for Judas to recognise it through his own haze of mounting ecstasy.

“You…you want me to stop?” he gasped mid-thrust.

“N-no.”

“You’re crying.”

Jesus was surprised at the wetness on his face. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology, stupid.”

Jesus choked out a laugh. “It was just…too much. I don’t know what came over me.” He pulled Judas close till their parted lips were brushing. “Please. Keep going.”

“Are you sure?” Judas could barely wait for the nod of assent before sinking back into the still-tight opening. He had promised to be gentle, and with great effort he controlled his rhythm until he was sure Jesus was panting with pleasure, not pain. He felt the latter’s sex, swollen and leaking, against his belly and took it in hand, stroking steadily until Jesus’ back arched high in the air, breathless for several seconds as his nails dug into Judas’ forearms, and spilled his climax mere moments before the other followed suit.

Judas groaned contentedly and collapsed beside him, an arm heavy across his chest. They lay unmoving and entangled in each other, each part of them fitting perfectly together as if they had been made and moulded this way.

Just as Jesus was drifting off into a blissful daze, he saw his angelic benefactor emerge from the walls, his flesh this time a swirl of smoky grey and obsidian. His eyes gleamed like diamonds as they swept over the naked lovers.

“Have you been watching us all the while?” Jesus whispered, affronted.

“I have, yes. You’re welcome for the oil. You’d be very sore indeed without it.”

“I do appreciate it, but you didn’t have to _stay_ – ”

“Oh, so _inhibited._ ” Satan waved his hand in a mocking gesture. “Then again, it _is_ your first time. You weren’t saving yourself for him, were you?”

Jesus glanced at Judas, but the man was asleep and seemingly oblivious to the supernatural presence in the room. “No. Things just…happened." He felt a rush of tenderness, a glowing ember warming his insides. "He was the first one I wanted in such a way. Possibly the only one.”

“Oh well. Isn’t he fortunate?” Satan studied the other man’s slumbering form, reaching out with mist-like fingers to stroke his back. Judas stirred only slightly. "I admit, I was curious as to why you are so devoted to him. Having followed him through that desert, I now know why.”

“How can you not? You know the future. You saved us from being seen – ”

“I am not all-knowing. I only see; I cannot feel what you feel. I don’t know the depths of every human heart.” He lifted a shoulder in one of his odd shrugs. “And sometimes I manage to pull off miracles, much to God’s annoyance.”

His form was melting away now, until only his face remained. “I have learnt much from you both.” His small smile was one of triumph. “Take care of each other. Live long and prosper.” Then the diamond eyes and smile disappeared entirely, and he was gone.

Jesus wondered if he would be haunted for the rest of his life by Satan’s surprise visits, the two of them bound by some contract sealed in his blood. But a more pressing matter at present diminished his worry somewhat.

He nudged his lover until the man grunted and cracked open an eye. “What?”

“I’m hungry. Ravenous, actually.”

“So?”

“I haven’t any coin for bread. Spare me some?”

Judas sighed. “You’re a bloody nuisance. I should have left you in that cave.”

In response, Jesus pulled him in for a kiss, and for a time they were content to feed on each other’s breath and insatiable love.

Perhaps someday, thought Jesus, he would be made to recount in detail the terrible future he had witnessed: the one they had avoided by the grace of God’s eternal foe. But not at this moment. Not when he was safe in Judas’ arms and savouring the warmth of his mouth to his satisfaction. It was enough to know that should death rage at being cheated and come for them still, they would not meet it alone. In his mind’s eye he saw their fates intertwine like silver threads, thwarting destiny while making their own, and his heart was at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> The vampire element in this story was completely inspired by my binging on the 'Dance Of The Vampires' soundtrack after watching the German musical
> 
> And no, Satan did not do a Vulcan salute with his parting words. Or did he


End file.
